The Festival
"Phineas," my mother calls. "Phineas. Wake up." I sit up in bed. "What's the matter?" "I just got off the phone with Mrs. Garcio-Shapira," she says. "She invited us to the Midsummers' Festival, and I couldn't exactly say no." For one moment I hope with all my might that she said 'Garcia-Shapiro', but I'm pretty sure I heard 'Garcio-Shapira', which means it's Isabelle. Great. "Is Ferb coming?" "Ferb?" my mother asks. "Oh, no. He's going to the movies with Emily. I must say, it's a lot easier to make plans with the Kinneys when they're in this country." "Do I have to go?" I press. I wouldn't pass up the chance if I was going with Isabella and Ferb, but Isabelle is an exception. "Yes, Phineas. Get dressed." I sigh and put on my clothes. Rubbing my eyes, I walk downstairs. Mrs. Garcio-Shapira and Isabelle are standing by the island in our kitchen. I've met Mrs. Garcio-Shapira a few times, and she's really kind, much nicer than Isabelle. I wonder where Isabelle gets it, because kindness sure doesn't seem to be hereditary. "Hello, Phineas," says Mrs. Garcio-Shapira. "Nice to see you again." "Hi, Mrs. Garcio-Shapira," I reply. Isabelle grins mischievously, and my feeling of dread increases. I eat a piece of toast without really tasting it and walk out to my mother's red station wagon. Buckling myself into the front seat, I stare out the window until we reach our destination. Trees, trees, and more trees. My mom and Mrs. Garcio-Shapira chat about HGTV, while I catch Isabelle looking at me through my rearview window. I'm relieved when we finally reach the festival until Isabelle grabs my hand in a death grip and pulls us away from our parents. "Ohmigosh, this will be so fun!" she gushes, squeezing my hand in what she probably thinks is a "romantic" way, but really, it feels like she's cutting off the circulation in my fingers. "I love carnivals, don't you?" "Where are we going?" I ask. She's practically dragging me by the heels; I feel like a dog on a leash. "To the Ferris wheel," she replies. We get to the ride, where Isabelle hands the man some money. "Two, please." She turns to me. "My treat, 'kay?" No, Isabelle. Not 'kay. The man smiles and hands her some change. "Have a nice ride," he says, chortling at the petrified look on my face. I wave wildly at the man, drawing my hand across my neck and grimacing, but he's busy serving another group. Narrowing my eyes, I reluctantly climb into the carriage with Isabelle, where I get the feeling I'm imprisoning myself. The ride lurches forward and we move into the air. When we reach the top, Isabelle shrieks a really fake shriek, looking down. "I forgot, I'm afraid of heights! Will you hold my hand, Phineas?" she asks, eyeing me, daring me to say no. "Maybe you shouldn't look down if you're so afraid of heights," I say coolly. She looks shocked. "What's your problem?" "My problem? I don't have a problem." "You need to chill, Phineas." "Oh, I'm chill. I'm cool as an iceberg. Cool as a cucumber. I'm chilling with penguins." Isabelle smiles. "I like penguins, don't you?" "Isabelle," I say, coming to my last straw. "Be quiet, will you?" I open the door of the carriage and jump out. Honestly, it's really out of character for me not to like someone, but Isabelle drives me insane. Isabelle screams, looking after me. "Oh my goodness! Someone save my boyfriend — he's jumped!" "I'm not your boyfriend!" I holler. Below me, people are rushing around, trying to find something to break my fall. Suddenly I see a pink blur, streaking towards where I'm going to fall — Isabella. "I've got you, Phineas!" she calls, moving around slightly so as to be on target. Unfortunately, when she does catch me, it's a bit harder than she expects — apparently, I've gained a lot of momentum since I've jumped — and we both hit the ground, getting twisted up into each other. I bet we look like contortionists gone wrong. "Well, we're in a pickle, aren't we?" I say. Isabella smiles. "I feel like I'm in an intense game of Twister," she says, untangling herself from me. I shake myself out and look at her. She's got a few grass stains on her bow (how did that happen?) and as I look at myself, I discover a few on my shirt. "I'm fine," she says, catching my expression and rubbing her wrist. "My wrist just twisted back the wrong way, is all." By this time, Isabelle has gotten off the ride. "Oh, Phineas!" she wails, flinging her arms around my neck and fake sobbing. "You scared me when you jumped!" "Please get off me," I say calmly, and surprisingly, Isabelle releases me, hands on hips. "Why'd you do that?" "Hmm, let's see," Isabella interrupts, feigning a look of deep concentration. "Maybe... oh, I don't know... he can't stand you?" "Phineas can stand me!" Isabelle says indignantly. "He's my best friend!" "And I'm the waffle fairy," Isabella says sarcastically. "Phineas is so not your best friend." "Oh, he is! Phineas tells me everything, he's very smart, not to mention a good source of gossip!" Isabella looks struck. "Gossip? Are you serious, Isabelle? Gossip is like the anti-Phineas. It's like, if Phineas gossips, then it's equivalent to twenty-twelve actually happening — zero percent chance. Where is your brain, girl?" "Well, he told me who he liked," she says, twirling a lock of her brown hair. "And in my mind, that's gossip enough for me, even if I completely despise the person who he likes." Isabella's face has gone white as a sheet of paper. "You... like someone?" "Yes," I say, deciding on the spot that it's best not to lie. "And... who is it?" "You." I take her hand and lead her to the water gun booth. Her face is still snow-white except for two small spots of pomegranate pink on her cheeks. Isabelle trails behind us, looking sour. "Step right up, 'ere!" says the man behind the booth, who I recognize to be Liam, a smiling, bearded man who works here every year and who knows me and Isabella quite well. "Well, 'ello, Isabella! And, 'ey — it's Phineas! Laddie, the last time I saw you, you were a wee boy!" He then looks at Isabelle, who looks like there's a possum sautéed in garbage underneath her nose. "And who's this?" "This is Isabelle," I say, jumping in before Isabella can say anything to downtalk Isabelle. "Her mom and my mom are friends." "So," says Liam, twirling a water gun between his hands, "What can I getcha, Phineas?" "I'd like to race against Isabelle," I say, smartly sliding a five dollar bill across the table. I turn to Isabelle and make my voice high-pitched. "My treat, 'kay?" Thankfully, Liam doesn't notice this remark. Brushing his hair out of his face, he begins to explain the complicated (oh, yes, very complex) rules of squirt gun racing. "Alrighty, Isabelle. What 'choo gotta do 'ere is simple: get yer book to the top of the line before Phineas can get his up there. You do that by squirtin' this 'ere water gun at th' target as best you can. All you got's to do is pull this trigger 'n water's gonna come out in a jet." He squirts her on the nose, increasing her bitter look. "Now, see," he says. "Gen'rlly I jes gives you a prize from th' wall, but since I can tell you's got a his'try, I'm gonna increase th' prize. Whoever wins gets a prize from the s'lection above me." He points up, and that's when I notice Isabella is looking at a chihuahua with longing. I decide to do better than Isabelle to get that chihuahua for Isabella. "So which books'll ya take, both've ya?" Liam points at the books behind him. I see Harry Potter, Twilight, and a few other popular books. "Ooh!" squeals Isabelle. If her voice goes any higher, she'll be talking to dolphins. "I want the Twilight! I love Edward Cullen, he's so gorgeous and heroic and brave and he saved Bella from getting hit by that stupid Tyler —" "Tyler is my hero," Isabella announces loudly. She then turns to me with a sweet look on her face. "Next to you, of course. Tyler's number two." I smile and say, "In that case, I'll take Deathly Hallows, Liam." "Hey, good choice, Phineas. As for you, Izzy-bell, I've halfa mind to tell ya the truth about that sparklin' fairy ofa so-called vampire, Edward Cull'n." Isabella giggles as Liam hands me the spray gun connected to the Harry Potter book. "Good luck, lad. Let's hope you can stay'n target, or, face it lad — I've a feelin' if you don't win, yer gonna hear about it fer the rest of your life. This Izzy-bell character seems like some'un who'd never let it go." "Thanks, Liam," I say, aiming at the target. Liam raises his voice and yells, "On yer mark — get set — GO!" "Wait, what?!" Isabelle shrieks, turning the squirt gun over and over, trying to figure out how it works. (And it shouldn't be that hard, it's a squirt gun, for goodness' sake!) Meanwhile, the copy of Deathly Hallows is inching quickly up the line, faster and faster, until — "Phineas wins!" roars Liam. "Oh, good job, m'boy, you show them sparklin' fairies! "Now, which prize are you going to take?" he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I'll take the chihuahua," I say, and beside me, I see Isabella's mouth drop open. "Good choice, boy, good choice... although I ain't too much a fan of dogs, they make me sneeze. Have a good day, Phin!" he calls as we walk away. Once we're some feet away, I hand the chihuahua to Isabella. "Here you go," I say, smiling at the look on her face. "I saw you looking at the chihuahua, and I think it looks a lot like Pinky." "I'' think it looks a lot like ''my dog, Blinky," Isabelle says haughtily. Isabella looks at her and nonchalantly says, "Isabelle, go away." Isabelle mouths soundlessly like a goldfish and sighs. "What's the point? I know Phineas'll never like me." She puts on these big sad puppy dog eyes that don't fool me for a minute. "Is this defeat?" Isabella jokes, while I say, "Isabelle, the pity party doesn't work on me. Don't know how you wouldn't know, but it doesn't. So just stop trying, okay?" Ooh, that was very out of character. I turn to Isabella. "What ride would you like to go on?" "Well," says Isabella, grinning at the look on Isabelle's face, "I wouldn't mind a go at that Ferris wheel... I mean, as long as you don't go all crazy and jump out again." I smile as we get on the ride. "I promise I won't." The ride lurches upward yet again. Isabella looks to the left of the carriage. "Oh, the view is beautiful up here! You can see everything." I look to the right and see a maroon dot moving slowly through the booths below. Isabelle. Probably gone off to nag her mother. Well, knowing her, it's likely. The ride stops at the very top, practically scraping the sky. The carriage rocks and bounces, and Isabella tenses, grabbing my hand and shuddering. "What's the matter?" I ask. "I have this feeling like the carriage will break away from the hinges or whatever and then we'll fall to our death." "Hey, look on the bright side," I say, grinning. "If we die, we die together." Isabella grins too. It's a grinfest. We look at each other and get serious. The ride is still on the top of the world. Isabella is stock-still, still holding my hand. I look at her and slowly, lean in to kiss her. I feel my cellphone buzz in my pocket but ignore it. Probably just my mom. I mean, it's not like anyone important would be calling, not when I'm on top of a Ferris wheel with Isabella. The ride makes its descent and when we finally get off, I notice Isabella's legs are shaking. Then I realize mine are too. My mother appears out of nowhere. "Hello," she says. "I just was checking up on you, Phineas; I tried calling you, but you didn't pick up." Oh, am I psychic or what? Who's the tiger? My mother's eyes fall on Isabella, who's as pink as her dress. "Well, hello, Isabella, how are you doing?" "V-very good, Mrs. F-flynn," she stutters, trying to pass off her shock as coldness. Surprisingly, my mother falls for it. "You two both look cold," she says. "Let me get you a sweatshirt." With that, she strides away. Isabella and I stand there silently. Isabella's face is no longer pomegranate pink, but is more the color of cotton candy now. I can only imagine how I look. Slowly, Isabella starts giggling. "What's funny?" I ask. "Oh, I saw you when you were walking into the driveway with Isabelle and her mom and your mom. You looked like you wanted to crawl right back under your duvet. But now... it's a bit of a turnaround, isn't it?" I smile, seeing the hilarity in everything. Even the clowns, which are the freakiest things on earth, seem funny. In fact, they're not funny. They're hilarious, rolling-on-the-floor-with-laughter, sugar-high funny. I feel giddy and take Isabella's hand. "Come on. Maybe we can get some cotton candy." Isabella smiles and clutches the chihuahua as we walk toward the concession stand, grins bigger than the Cheshire Cat plastered on our faces. Category:Fanon Works Category:Che's Articles